Forgotten Ground Regained

Song-Hall of the Bone-Mother

(From the Winter-Songs of the Codex of Hjalskring)
Harp lay hanging, harrowed by dust,string-road silent, song-flesh gone.Frost-wolf fed · on famine’s field,kin-fire kindled · in cold-bound homes.
Caelen Chordwise, cold of thought,heard in hush · a hollow strain—wind-woven wail · from winter’s mouth,calling him close · from comfort’s shade.
He fared beyond · the fallow bounds,through briar’s bite · and burdened stones,where root-serpents · writhed in gloom,and twilight thronged · to thread the path.
At world’s worn edge · the word-fall failed,speech lay still · and spell-smoke curled.Shadow-hall thrived · with thorn-twined towers—Crannmor crowned · in coldest sky.
No gate-ward greeted, no guard gave cry;the wall stood wide · to winter’s breath.Bone-seat bore · the Bride of Snow,mantled in mist · and moonlit thread.
Courtfolk crouched · as carrion birds,thirsting for tears · that they might shed.She spoke like sleet · on steel-bound helm:“Play for my hall, and hold my crown.”
Breathless he bowed, bore the harp,sleep-forged strings · still with frost.He struck the steel · of sorrow’s chord,night-notes nested · on nameless moors.
Stars grew starless, stone wept rime,courtfolk wailed · with wind in throat.Frost froze thicker · with each frail tone,and owls went mute · in oaken dark.
“Mortal music · moves the dead;your grief-song gilds · what gold cannot.Take this token · to bind your grief;wear cold honor · in winter’s name.”
She set it fast · on frost-burned brow—bone-band bound · by blaze of iceIts bite was deep, its bands unyielding:“Sing till the sea · shall swallow stars.”
He played as cloud · closed round the moon,harp-breath heavy · with hail and hush.Frost-fields flower · at fingers’ touch.and fire forgot · the form of flame.
Ice bit bone · and blackened root,dreams lay drowned · in drifts of glass.His name was gone · but not his song—it wound the world · in winter’s chain
Snow sleeps deep · where seed once woke,and Spring stays never · where song has gone.Far northern night · where night is longest,Crannmor waits · in wind’s last hush.
Dusk-dreams drift · from deep-carved stone,string stirred softly · by sorrow’s hand.Hollow hands · still hold the harp—soul bound fast · to frost and sound.
Part of Forgotten Ground Regained: A Journal of Alliterative Verse, Issue 8, Fall, 2025: Norse and Icelandic Forms
Note from the Editor:
Fornyrðislag is very close to Old English alliterative verse, as can be seen in this poem, where I have put the alliterating a- and b-verses on the same line. (Of course, this poem isn’t, strict Old Norse fornyrðislag, since (for instance) there is sometimes only one alliterating lift in the a-verse. And yet how the wind (and the lines) sing!
The Codex of Hjalskring is part of a fantasy setting the author is developing for a work in progress.
Copyright © Jordan D. River, 2025
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